It’s all gone she said. Mom was being truthful – her home, the house that she used to decorate so beautifully, the work that made all of our Christmases so memorable, all gone. She refused any comfort. She looked it square in the eye – it’s gone and there is nothing to do about it and taking anything from these tables heaped with her past would not help in the least. She came to my brother’s house yesterday while we all unpacked the boxes of decorations; she softly fingered things, she remembered details, helped to organize and lay things out for everyone to see.
It had all been in boxes for years, since Mom and Dad moved
in with my sister and her family. This was the last category of things to distribute,
spread out and choose from. The pieces
of furniture, the regular silverware, the piano and wall decorations had
been split up and were now living in our separate houses since the move. Mom had always said “When I leave this house,
they are taking me out of here in a box” and we believed her. Eventually she
left, without the box and without most of her things, but with Dad to a new way
of life.
This was made by one
of the kids, I don’t know who…oh and this was from a craft fair I think. Many of the items she or her mother had made,
the needlepoint boxes or crocheted snowflakes or hooked rugs. There were boxes of plastic green garland
that wrapped the railings or draped down the doors. There were enough wreaths for everyone to take
multiples. There were plaster angels and crocheted angels and angels made of
sugar starch. I always loved this she
said. Remember this? Much was handmade by us as well, or by our
children. As a matter of fact, their tree had been decorated for years with only
handmade ornaments which were now spread out in a special area. And then there were gifts for Mom and Dad
which had been handmade as well. An
embroidered sampler, heavy glass ashtrays with magazine Christmas pictures pasted
to the bottom, ornaments made from coffee filters or Popsicle sticks. And
glitter. Now and forever, glitter.
Nobody is kidding nobody here. They weren’t perfect holidays
ever. There were nerves and hurt feelings and burnt cookies and flares of anger
and jealousy and exhaustion. An inveterate catalog shopper, Mom had dealt with whole
shipments which weren’t delivered by Christmas, gifts which came broken or
looked entirely different than expected. The burden of running a house of eleven
children was heavy all year, at Christmas it only intensified, the stakes
becoming infinitely greater. But year after year there was the laughter, the surprises, the
music, the food, the moments of deep gratitude with these decorations around
us.
Over on one table sat 20 or 25 of my mother’s collection of Nativity
sets. There was the original one that most of us remembered from 50+ years ago
and some that had been collected or given to her over the years. There were small plastic ones too, which we
kids brought home to Mom from primary school.
One was made of material that shines in the dark when left under a lamp
for awhile. We older girls had a rosary made of that material and it was our
favorite thing, one of the few things we all agreed that we would share and take
care of. Those small plastic nativity
sets made my heart twist, reminding me of a simpler time with miracles like angels
announcing births, rooms suddenly piled with gifts while you slept, and small
hands sheltering a shining rosary in the dark.
As we circled the tables, my brothers and sisters and I time
traveled together. Current troubles and
disagreements were soothed by memories, but even good memories can surprise and
sting. Do you remember? we ask each other over and over again, and too often
the answer is no. The things laid bare here have no context, it is 10 years
since we Christmased that way in that place with these things watching us from
the tree and the table and the walls. I wish we were searching for something
that was there. Instead I was searching for something which was missing, impossibly
far away and yet somehow triggered so deeply by a small piece of plastic.
Everyone had to shake the bells that used to hang on the
back door. They took us back to the late
night Christmas Eves when we shook off sleep and let our bare feet hit the cold
floor as we ran into the kitchen to catch a glimpse – he was just here! or to a time when we stood, older
and sadly wiser and shook the bells and
slammed the door ourselves as the younger ones came racing in – you just missed him! I
didn’t take the bells. I didn’t want to hear them now. I wanted to walk into Mom’s
kitchen, and hear them ring as I closed the door.
I came home in the late afternoon to my apartment which faces
east. Out my window stands a high rise with a glass front which reflects the view
from the west and I love to watch the sun set.
As the eastern sky darkens, the panel of glass in this building still
reflects the vibrant beauty of the autumn evening. I feel as if I am living in two worlds as I
gaze thru the night time darkness on my side of the world to the spectacular
beauty of the colors and the sky which is still day time blue as the sun drops.
Fitting for a day I’d spent with a foot in both the present
and the past. Working at one level as if we were simply unpacking and packing, lightly
making choices about the things of our childhood. On the other level, feeling that if we all
just held our breath we could go back there for a moment. Or that if we all had the identical memory of
the sounds and the smells and the feelings of that time- if our combined
efforts could shine enough of a light on our past- it would begin to glow and come
mysteriously to life.
Mom was right of course. There is no way to soften the fact
that it is all gone. We can’t live in
two worlds; Christmas Past with its ghosts lies behind us. The trinkets we took to our homes will lose
their energy and their heat, and the power to propel us through time. We are still a family that celebrates
together, we create wonderful new memories, and we watch grandchildren and
great grandchildren living in the magic of their moments knowing that they will
remember. She who decorated that house and surrounded our lives with love is still
here and showing us how we must all let go of what is already gone, and learn to
live with grace as the past becomes the future.
And the tiny, shine-in-the-dark nativity set sits on my
shelf, waiting to shine its light.
